


Disco 2: Electric Boogaloo

by MythosMeta



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Game(s), Spoilers, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythosMeta/pseuds/MythosMeta
Summary: cryptid hunting jamrock partners and also gay piningi like disco but i thought it could be just a pinch spicier, could use a hint more otherworldly confrontationfirst time doing plot and i have no idea where its going. come along with me,,,
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 134
Kudos: 201





	1. Into the Unknown

You wake to the familiar growl of a Kineema and reflexively try to swing your legs off the wrong side of the bed, slapping them against drywall. 

PERCEPTION: Ow.

LOGIC: The Case was closed last year. You’re in Jamrock. Not the Whirling.

The confusion is hardly your fault. Kim hasn’t made a house call in awhile. It’s just as well; your apartment might be cleaner now but it’s still kind of a dump. You’ve thought before about that quirk of Kim’s where he treats everything he sees as a case of its own. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah, remember when we were thinking about that? Cute.

DRAMA: Quiet in the theater of the mind! Do go on, sire.

Right. This is one of the few times that would be fitting. The place is a crime scene. You are the perp and the clutter, the evidence. A crime of passion. Any one of these odd articles of clothing, knickknacks, or pieces of detritus (which are definitely _not_ garbage and just so happened to be storing potential energy in the trash cans of the unambitious) that you collected from all over Jamrock could come in handy someday. Kim wouldn’t understand. It’s not hoarding. You don’t have a problem. Shut up, Kim.

COMPOSURE: And he’ll think you’re slipping anyway if he finds you in here, caught up in talking to your imagination again. 

You drag your aching bones out of bed and look out the window into the purple haze of pre-dawn. Dressed for work. So there’s a case. A personal case, to have intercepted you before your next arrival at the Precinct. You hurry down the hall to the living room.

SUGGESTION: He picked up a side quest without _you?_

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Somethings not right. He feels weird about it.

COMPOSURE: Stop reading his mind before you even answer the door.

You answer the door. Kim stands there, gloved hand raised, denied the goal of knocking. He stares through you for a second too long before slowly lowering his arm. 

EMPATHY: He’s come to accept some of your uncanny abilities, but isn’t quite used to having them in play on himself.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Are all you freaks gonna chime in before the first ten full minutes of consciousness? Shut the hell up.

“Detective,” Kim greets just in time. Or did you miss the customary ‘good morning’? “My apologies for not calling ahead. I know we were meant to have the week off, but are you prepared for work?”

You blearily turn to the clock on the wall. 6:05 a.m. You look back at him. His eyes flick to you from where he’d followed your gaze. And though he denies having head voices of his own, he lets you see his tiny, amused smile as though he can read your clunky thoughts right back.

Or maybe your tired squinting just looks funny.

You breathe in. “...No. Sorry.”

He nods easily. “I can wait in the carriage. Please pack for a bit of a trip.” That detestable eyebrow says ‘but be quick about it’ with the slightest twitch. You hate it. You hate it because it’s so good. So powerful. Stupid, enthralling brow. Accept new task: find out if Kim is actually a vampire.

Oh wait he’s still talking. “-and I think you’ll be especially eager to take this case. A request from an old friend of ours.”

LOGIC: Not to worry, _I_ was actually paying attention. Someone from Martinaise. But it’s early, and Kim isn’t showing his usual signs of having been up all night. No one would organize a distant meeting at this hour. They probably live here. Someone Kim would sincerely refer to as a friend. And the odd way he said ‘old’ … 

“Lena?” 

“The Cryptozoologist,” Kim confirms. He regards you with obvious pride.

You, for one, are NOT incapable of blushing. You blush.

ENCYCLOPEDIA: Following the review and co-publishing of the Insulidian Phasmid evidence, Lena has become just as much of a prominent figure in the cryptozoological community as her husband, Morell. She has taken up the mantle and further investigations with gusto.

“That’s great!” 

The lieutenant tilts his head.

“But,” you continue, “I thought you weren’t into the cryptid stuff.”

Kim’s blank expression turns thoughtful and he folds his hands behind his back. “I wouldn’t say I’m _into_ it, no. However, it has become clear that not all of these creatures and claims are false. Specifically, _you_ have shown me there is more to this world than I once believed. Investigating one species while we’re between ridiculously complicated murders might not be a complete waste of time. Besides-” he winces, “-she asked me personally, to make sure I was alright with it. Ironically, I would’ve been most uncomfortable refusing her earnest request there in her home on my own.”

You offer him a knowing smile. “Polite to a fault. Then the case is… ?”

“I’ll give you the details on the way.” The look he gives your _I put the BI in BITCH_ shirt is pointed, but also, almost approving.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: First the punk jacket, now this. Kim must really like blatantly homosexual fashion.

Retreat. You leave Kim on the porch before your face can betray that thought, and blaze through your morning routine. All the clothes and tools you can fit are jammed into a patchy knapsack. With one last glance in the blessedly Expression-free mirror, you set out.

* * *

“The eight-eyed teratorn,” you murmur around the clanging of Kim’s rock station as you look over the file he handed you. 

He doesn’t respond, squinting at the other vehicles, focused on maneuvering the crowded Jamrock streets.

The file is distinctly Kim: small, neat, color-coded with an emphasis on orange and any shade that goes with it. You run through the summary. The _Teratornithidae_ family has been officially extinct for about 3,500 years. Potentially the world’s largest bird with a wingspan of 11.5 meters. Target reported to have four eyes on either side of the skull. Indifferent to humans unless they approach, stopping them with alleged mind control.

“So, where are we going?”

“The docks, to meet Madame Messier.” 

“Joyce? She finally solved the retaliatory death squad thing?”

“Some months ago, apparently. Inter-isolary politics work slow, but not that slow, not for this. I have not been told the specifics.” Kim visibly makes an effort to relax. “It would seem, at least, that the agreement forged will see the people of Martinaise protected from such messy mercenary business in the future.”

“Good.” You shift in your seat, mindful of your bad hip. “Let’s not... do that stuff again.”

“Yes.”

A silence stretches between you before you remember your line of questioning.

“And we’re taking Joyce’s boat? Where to?”

“More docks, detective. Aerostatic docks.” 

“...Through the pale?”

He shrugs. “Through to Iilmaraa, where the informant reported the first teratorn sighting of this decade. We should only be out of town for three to five days.”

“Yeah okay, _the pale_ , though,” you reiterate, throwing him a _look_.

“You and I are both aware I was... uncomfortable last year. Considerably. I told myself it was because I wanted to protect you from further mental damage. Regardless, it was unprofessional of me to let that show in our pale-related discussions.” You feel him go rigid next to you. Not just with discomfort, but resolve. “I feel a trek through will help us find another connection to the things we experienced then.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Play dumb.

“What things?”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Not that dumb!

His expression turns to stone. “Officer. I’m not one to deny proof. Or a suspicious series of coincidences. Cryptids, voices in your head, talking corpses, two millimeter holes in the world. Did you suppose I would leave it at ‘he’s a remarkably good guesser for an amnesiac’ forever?”

EMPATHY: There it is. The deeper reason. Car rides really do allow for the most emotionally charged conversations. Is he afraid to lose his senses? Control? Knowledge? Self?

“I’m-”

“Wait. You’re fine. Don’t apologize again. It’s only- I think… I don’t know what to think, lately.” He’s facing away from you, out the driver side window.

You put your hand on his forearm, desperate to connect, refusing to jolt at the skin contact. “Are you gonna be okay, Kim?”

“I simply have to do this. What’s more…” he turns, and you catch his smile. “I want to.”


	2. Rejoyce

At the dock, you part with the Kineema, an almost somber act in the drizzling rain. Joyce, though, is unfazed as ever and celebrates your reunion with a gallant bow.

“My favorite militiamen,” she says, spreading her arms. “It’s been far too long!” 

It was probably just a general extravagant gesture, but you briefly hug her while she’s open anyway. She allows it, none too surprised with your antics, though the short slaps to your shoulder are not nearly as comforting as Kim’s pats.

He stays at your side, returning the bow. “Good to see you well.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant. I heard you two were in quite the scrape. Of course, that’s why I had to rush off in the first place. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

“Well done preventing further bloodshed. As for us, that’s old news. We’re just fine-” 

“And back to looking for trouble,” Joyce cuts in. 

She shakes her head in exasperation, setting her thermos on the deck. Her scarf flaps wildly in the wind as she steps forward. From the edge of the racer, she towers over you. You pause to take in the details: the extra grey streaks of hair, the daring jut of her chin, stormy eyes calculating. But then, like a red string of yarn plucked by a gloved finger, the laws of time snap into their rightful place. The picture dissolves in motion, her genuine smile overtaking it all. Perhaps she found whatever strength she was searching you for.

“You and your partner are truly something else. Welcome aboard.”

DRAMA: Wow. You might’ve gathered this, but I think we can trust her to be our captain for the day.

* * *

“Ah,” Kim says over lunch. “This will be your first time through the pale as well.”

He has bypassed all the normal and perfectly good seating on deck to balance himself on the railing behind your chosen bench because of course he has. He wouldn’t even sit on a swing properly.

You swirl the mysterious dregs of your meat pie around, your plastic fork shredding the crust, and consider wheedling Kim into having some. Whatever that man eats, he could probably use more of it. “Far as I know, I guess.”

“Here I didn’t even ask if you were ready…” He absently winds a leg through the bars. “Aren’t you worried you’ll lose your memories again?”

COMPOSURE: Well. You weren’t until he said that.

You sag facedown against the unforgiving wood of the tabletop. It creaks and tilts with your weight, the pie sliding along to rest against your forehead in silent mockery. You rush to take advantage of a comedic opportunity at your own expense, like you do.

“Kim… I didn’t think about it because… I’m a meathead.”

He scoffs, equal parts disbelieving and entertained, and leans forward to reward you with sweet, sweet heavy back pats, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

EMPATHY: It’s cold out at sea. Kim’s jacket doesn’t cover his forearms. You brought your usual metric ton of outfits. See where I’m going with this?

You abruptly decide you wanted to wear a different jacket anyway. Your knees give a token protest as you rise from the seat, shrug off the green peacoat, and rifle through its pockets, laying your gun and Kim’s handkerchief aside for transfer into whatever comes out of your bag.

He frees himself and hops down. You wordlessly thrust the peacoat at him, and he slips it on over his bomber. On anyone else, it would be silly, swamping his thin frame down to his fingertips like that. As always, he just looks unfairly cool to you, standing there cuffing the sleeve hems. You don a black trenchcoat and wait. Kim is giving off that kind of energy that lets you know he wants to say something, delicately.

He clears his throat. “You kept my handkerchief.” It’s a carefully neutral observation, fishing for information.

“Of course. It’s the first thing you gave me. Since you wouldn’t share a pen, you greedy bastard.” 

PERCEPTION: Look what you’ve earned for that. An insufferable smirk. Congratulations, levity achieved. Are you ready to get serious?

Nope. You’re not sure about blurting sentimental mush, or looking Kim in the face while you do it, so you drop to the deck and lie down on your back. After a bit of deliberation, he follows suit. He busies himself doing up the buttons of the coat, waiting for you this time.

It takes a few false starts, but you soon manage at a meandering pace. “Well. I’d woken up so recently. I didn’t know anyone- wasn’t like people were tossing stuff at me like they do now. Then you came along and stuck to me. Called yourself my partner. I might not have known what that meant at the time, hell I barely knew anything, but when you gave me this… it felt significant, somehow.” 

Kim remains quiet. His tense shoulders speak to an anticipation for more.

You indulge him. “Maybe it’s dumb, applying this emotional weight to something I threw up on. But it’s not like I have another token from around our first Ace’s High, you know?”

“...I didn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“I didn’t know. How important that was to you in the moment, I mean.” He sighs. “Look. Harry. I-” 

Heavy boots approaching from the stern. That’s all the notice Joyce affords your sad excuse for a sleepover before she’s here, in your perspective upside down and backlit by the weak sun. It’s a small boat, after all.

“Sorry to interrupt-” 

DRAMA: You guys must look pathetic because she really is. 

“-I’m afraid you’ll have to stow the pillow talk, gents. We’re on the straight shot to aerostatic control and we’ve got three hours for a crash course in pale survival, so! Up and at ‘em. Shake a leg. Let’s make like frogs and hop to it.” 

A rousing encouragement as expected. You nod enthusiastically as you both accede to standing like adults. 

Kim nudges you with a sharp elbow in a way that indicates you’re about to get served. “Careful, or I’ll have to practice my street medic skills on you once more.” 

You groan, and Joyce’s eyes dart between the two of you curiously.

“It’s an inside joke,” you explain. It sounds so lame you have to say more. “I, uh, hurt myself trying to nod faster than him.”

Kim’s eyelid twitches in sympathetic pain, and you know you just made an unlikely shot. Need real luck to take a chance and manage something twice as lame.

She slaps a gloved palm over her mouth but she’s too late to mask her guffaw. “Sorry, sorry,” she breathes, trying to collect herself. “No disrespect, officers. You’re quite the pair, is all.”

Joyce straightens up and seems to default into knowledgeable negotiator mode. “But enough of that; there’s work to do. Now, do either of you have any notable pale or spiritual reinforcement experience?”

Like any good partner, you immediately tell on him. “Ruby’s radio torture device thing used some pale stuff, I think, and it’d be hard on anyone but was more painful for Kim than me. He couldn’t take it and could barely talk and-”

“Stop,” Joyce says, waving away the rest of your sentence. “Radio torture device?”

“Don’t worry, I broke it.”

She rubs the bridge of her nose, accepting this and you and the things you do. “Carry on.”

“Um.” You sense Kim’s piercing gaze boring into your head and fear a reckoning for the words you’ve said already. “I forgot the rest.”

“I see.” She mercifully shoulders his attention herself. “Lieutenant, you may have to suffer the worst of the effects. Some people are more sensitive than others. I, myself, am one of the more resistant.” Her ever-present smile sours. “I don’t know how much it will hurt. The most I can do is shore up your defenses for the fallout.”

“If I recall,” he replies, “that’s the most anyone can do. Thank you, it will have to be enough.”

* * *

The sun is setting on the horizon. In the distance, a hurricane is brewing. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch it stagger towards the coast you left behind with the sluggish, uncaring, and inevitable doom of a zombie in pursuit. All three of you have pulled up your hoods against the torrential downpour and are working to keep the boat upright through the remains of the lesson.

“Last, but certainly not least,” Joyce projects over the turmoil, “you _must_ rely on one another. When you cannot keep your wits about you, maintaining a connection to your partner is the next best thing. You’ve known each other for awhile, so staying in reach and line of sight should keep you grounded in reality.”

If she had another statement, it doesn’t arrive before the boat begins to rock and shudder dangerously.

SHIVERS: An extra splash sows discordant ripples in the churning waves. The cold, abandoned, forgotten meat pie has slid down the rest of the table, flipped over the rail, and met its end. You couldn’t protect it. Perhaps this is a metaphor for what an awful parent you’d make. To innocent meat children. You monster.

You spare only a moment to experience the pleasant surprise of Shivers having a sense of humor. Maybe all of you is nervous, telling jokes to lighten the mood. You listen for more voices, but there’s only the howling of the wind. Landfall is fast approaching, and it takes the three of you to dock smoothly in this weather. Joyce throws the wheel for a hard left. A few feet behind her, Kim clings to the rudder, trying to steady the handle as much as he uses it to steady himself. You leave your position at the mast to reach out to the taller pier. You act as a brace between the boat and the nearest post, keeping them close without letting them crash, waiting for the others to tie your vessel in place.

Joyce escorts you and Kim ashore. She’s pretty strong for an older person, tensing her muscles and locking her elbows, handing you up to the relative safety of the planks with a boost. They squeak threateningly, but if they can hold _you_ , Kim and Joyce should be fine, you reason. Together, you haul her up after. 

She rises from the crouch, and her smile has slightly changed again.

REACTION SPEED: Is she… ?

When you and Kim let go, she hangs on and squeezes your wrists shortly, spins on her heel, and leaps off the pier. She dashes for the mooring lines, untying them expertly. As she runs about her work, her boots smack the deck with authority. She never slips.

You cup your fingers around your mouth and call out. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to wait out the storm?”

“You moralists have no sense of adventure. I’m going to outrun it!” Joyce sets fire to a lantern, but the spark of her excitement easily puts that scant light to shame. “ _Au revoir_ , Du Bois! Kitsuragi! I wish you a safe return.” Apparently the occasion calls for dispensing with titles. She punctuates her farewell with a bow, kicking off the pier’s post. Her boat swings out into the fray. In movement, her silhouette is picturesque, frozen in the bow with her leg extended, balanced atop her vessel's rotation like an ice skater leading into a jump. Kim’s arm presses a warm line on your flank as you huddle there in the rain. You watch her return to the wheel, and the lone glowing dot fade, surrendered to the mist.

You’re glad she implied you’d meet again. 


	3. And They Were Roommates

Your flight is scheduled for 10:00a.m. tomorrow. Kim assures you that you aren’t walking aimlessly through the mud, nor would you be sleeping under an overturned boat, no, not even if you want to. He checked a map of Iilmaraa’s coast beforehand and planned to spend the night at the inn nearest the docks. You turn the corner, the fluorescent light of the sign glints off Kim’s glasses, and he stops in his tracks. 

“It’s not possible.”

“Kim?”

He shakes his head. “The inn _can’t_ be named that.”

You shade your eyes and peer up through the irritating glare to read- “The… Smallest Church.” -and promptly drop your bag in the dirt.

“Kim,” you repeat, serious as a graveyard. You put both hands on his shoulders. “This… is the most beautiful place in the world-”

“You’ve hardly seen five square miles of the world-” 

“-and we live here now.”

“Detective. Remember, we’re aiming for two more days.” His voice is stern, but his touch is gentle as he brushes you off. He picks up your knapsack and pushes it against your chest until you hold it. “I’m sure this is a decently hospitable inn. Can we please enter it?”

You speedwalk for the entrance with Kim trailing at your heels and yank open the door. The blast of warm air is shocking after being wet out in the evening, and he burrows deeper into your coat while he adjusts.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Letting himself enjoy a creature comfort for once. Wanna hear a secret? He thinks your coat smells good.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: I hope you’re happy. Are you proud of yourself? You ruined a perfectly good detective, is what you did. Look at it! It has heart palpitations.

You take it like a champ, though, desperately channeling the nerves into useful energy, securing your accomodations and a styrofoam container of ‘whatever, literally anything’ from the kitchens to share for dinner. 

Kim isn’t as hardy as you, and every imperfection in his posture screams his exhaustion from the boat wrangling, so you take it upon yourself to handle everything and urge him to your room. Singular. The only one your combined savings after budgeting affords you. You’re reminded of the light-bending guy, and you scowl your way up the flight of stairs. Dumb light-bending rich guy. So what if the RCM is experiencing tough times? You don’t mind rooming with Kim. Because you’re an awesome partner. Only an immature man would worry about sharing a room with two beds.

You unlock the door. 

Or one bed. It’s no big deal. This is nothing. Completely normal. Everyone has to get in close quarters with their platonic dearest best most important best platonic, definitely best but also completely platonic. Friend. Your smart and kind and devastatingly cool friend. Okay, you gave not being weird the old college try but you can feel the freak out gnawing through your defenses. You have to ask.

“Oh my god, Kim. Am I this much of a disgrace? Is my masculinity… fragile?” Keep it together. Try not to whimper. Unclench your hand from the innocent doorknob. “I’m sorry. I failed you. And all women at the same time.”

Kim stifles a long-suffering sigh. “Is this about the bed?”

So kind of the staff to include a floor-length mirror so you can watch yourself flush a disgusting red in excruciating detail. You feverishly announce in one breath, “No it’s fine I’ll sleep on the floor don’t even-”

Kim throws his jackets on the minimalist chair that hurts to look at, plunks his glasses on the side table, and faceplants into the sheets. You can still hear him, muffled. “Get in the fucking bed, Harrier.” Haltingly, he toes off his short boots. 

You drop your knapsack and jacket on the dresser and, so carefully, you begin your approach. Kim wriggles to the open side. He probably wants to face the door and have an easier time getting up. There’s a tall chest at the foot of the bed because God wants you, specifically, to burn in hell you guess. You have to crawl over Kim to reach the half against the wall.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Slow your roll, tiger! You gotta play it cool if you wanna get some-

“I will stab myself in the head.” 

Your blood stops in your veins, with one arm already planted on your half. The tunnel vision is setting in. With your last shred of sanity, you wonder if this town has a doctor. You’re almost on top of him and you had to open your mouth and sound like a serial killer.

“Don’t do that,” Kim grumbles, unimpressed, mildly irritated. “Sleep.” 

He’s not mad, but your morale has seen better days.

“Okay,” you say like it’s comforting. You quickly clamber over him and stick yourself to the wall, thanking your lucky stars he constantly deals with weirdos. You resign yourself to a long and not particularly restful night.

* * *

Incrementally, you come to in the light of the waking world. Your sleep-addled brain is taking stock on autopilot. No nightmares and creepy voices. Creepier, you mean, than the usual voices. You retain all your limbs and organs, and none of them are punctured by bullets. The covers haven’t been fussed off the bed in the night. There’s a head on your shoulder. An arm slung over your waist. Wait.

You crack an eye open, and Kim is there. Like, _right_ there. Right up in your grill. Breath fanning across your neck. His hair still carries the salty smell. You were too tired to stand in the shower last night. Well, he was tired. You forgot because you were busy freaking out. About this exact thing happening.

COMPOSURE: This is a rare opportunity. Don’t waste it on panic. Fall back on detective habits if you have to.

Of course it’s no problem _now_ , you note bitterly. You examine his sleeping face. He has permanent eyebags and patchy stubble and a light sheen of cooling sweat, like anybody after a hard day. You like it. Not in a gross way! In a reaffirmation of human normalcy way. And it’s nice to see him actually relaxed as opposed to forcing calm in stressful situations for the benefit of others. And his shirt is riding up.

PERCEPTION: Okay, I know you’re zoning out, so don’t look now, but… 

You look up. No spiders. You look left. Door’s closed. You look down, and Kim looks back at you, blinking and rubbing at an eye with the heel of a woefully begloved palm. Who can sleep like that? He’ll have to take them off eventually. Your tongue goes off-script and sticks to the roof of your mouth rather than letting you wish him a good morning.

“About yesterday,” he starts, like nothing currently happening is worth noting. “I don’t often complain-”

“Kim,” you manage to blurt because his name has always been the easiest and your favorite thing to say. “I know for a fact you _never_ complain. Particularly when you have every right to. I get it when we’re on the clock, but you know you can take it easy around me. When it’s just us. Don’t you?”

If Kim pouted, he’d be pouting. “I _am_ taking it easy.” Then, so faint it might be to himself, “Too easy.” 

He sits up, and you soldier through the acute loss without crying even a little. You’re not like that anymore. You don’t get too attached to one person and then almost die when they’re gone. Kim would be disappointed if you couldn’t control yourself.

The weight on the bed shifts and the bathroom door creaks, but you wait until you can hear the pitter-patter of the weak motel-rate shower running to truly wallow. Instead of doing anything, you roll over, get comfortable for a good despair marination. The pillow smells like salt and sweat, and you’re ready to decompose. 

LOGIC: It’s been a year. Seven, technically. You’re not making a random, poor decision on the rebound. Where’s the harm?

You push your head under the pillow and squeeze it around your ears, a vain attempt to block out sounds you can’t really hear, to avoid having an internal conversation you’ve had quite enough of already. You draw on a familiar pool of excuses to drown out the rest. It’s pointless, for the garden variety reasons everyone _like you_ knows and despises. A young man’s game. Not the time. You have an important job to do. Focus.

It’s fortunate the morning is spent on case prep routines. You stop in front of the mirror and do what any emotionally compromised member of The Community, as you’ve come to understand it, would do. An impulsive hairstyle change to feel alive. You stroke your muttonchops in farewell. Their time has come. Goodnight, sweet prince. 

Somewhere along the way, you realize dinner slipped your mind last night too.

You leave the styrofoam container in the fridge to Kim without opening it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://sunnyandme.tumblr.com/post/190282695756/boat-harry-made-for-yourmajestysghost-s-disco
> 
> Beautiful art by a beautiful reader..... take a sip, babes B)
> 
> You deserve it after I did you like that a;sldkfjd just know I don't write angst without a happy ending. Source: dude trust me


	4. Darkest Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why the rating is M. Be mindful of some grotesque descriptions, folks.

As you and Kim board the aerostatic, you search your mental files for Joyce’s description of the travel system.

ENCYCLOPEDIA: After the initial jet, there is no propulsion and miniscule steering control. Passengers glide to their landing destination. Or they don’t. Thus, the calculations must be precise. The room for error at launch is a decimal approaching zero. Rocketships with similar designs have been proposed, but the pale prevents any useful craft in recorded history from breaking atmosphere. Another related invention is the spacesuit, naturally only employed on these expeditions. You don’t have to wear one, but some of the workers do, passing around you in their alien jumpsuits and helmets.

In conclusion, the aerostatic is super cool. Not because of that nerd stuff, but because Kim thinks the aerostatic is super cool. You’ve noticed his thing for excellent craftsmanship and clever machines, how could you not, and this is the crown jewel of manmade transportation. He circles the spacious domed interior, eyes glittering with interest, and it's almost enough to erase your tough morning entirely.

“I thought you liked Joyce’s boat,” you tease. “She’ll be jealous.”

“I did like the boat. I also like antique weaponry and the station’s vehicle selection. But I like this more.” He wanders distractedly from support beams to maintenance catwalks, and since you’re not officially investigating yet, you let him lead. Besides, as far as you can tell, it’s mostly a big metal pod full of people. The architecture is wasted on you.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Not so fast. You will academically appreciate this majestic craft and you will like it. Such is my job. See the ingenious ovular shape? There’s room for dozens of people to live, and it’s equipped for a day’s travel. And it’s probably aerodynamic or something. There’s a slowing and landing mechanism at the rear and base, attached to an impressive construction outside that you, philistinically, interpreted as the throwing arm. The interior is very, uh, efficient. Metallic. A strong and lightweight metal, surely. Aluminum, possibly. Maybe if we look here and- oh, alright. It's a dirigible, okay? It’s a rigid blimp without helium or an engine. It’s a cannonball for people.

You knew it.

A few minutes later, you’re herded to the passenger quarters. You sit across from each other in a cubicle, where Kim is disgruntled to be confined to a regular chair. The greeting folks leave you with instructions to remain still while the aerostatic accelerates. Kim complies, in the name of safety, but draws one leg up and perches the heel on the seat in defiance. Of objects intended specifically to be seats, you assume.

You’re only just beginning to speculate on how they offended him when the ship is cleared for liftoff. There’s a sinking in your gut as your body processes motion despite the stillness of everything in sight. You turn to the small, round window to grasp your surroundings just in time to be slammed back into your chair and watch the ground outside disappear.

It reminds you of the car chase you and Kim got into last month. You haven’t been shocked, lately, that you jumped a canal once. Kim drives like a demon when he’s in pursuit. You sneak a glance, but can’t check his face, glued to the porthole window as it is. 

Sooner than you expect, a green light from the front signals you’re free to move about the cabin. You don’t, watching the edges of the window be consumed by grey nothing. The sinking feeling doesn’t subside. You could swear you’re touching that nothing, as though the ship didn’t exist. Defying physics and gravity, leaking up your extremities. It isn’t clean fluff like the rainclouds it plays at imitating. There is something both biological and unnatural about it. You can’t help but picture a cold, viscous, living slime. A pitcher plant luring a fly with sweet acid.

This is the radiation you were warned about. Physically damaging, certainly. The mental threat is harder to catalogue. You didn’t know it would wield a power so personal. You didn’t think it would be an emotion. 

You didn’t think it would be malice.

And then the world is drained of color, and you don’t think at all.

* * *

For- you don’t know how long, the silence hurts in this vacuum. If you could feel your head, it would be stuffed with cotton, your ears failing to pop with the altitude. 

Then voices assault what’s left of your senses. _Your_ voices. Stronger and louder. Too loud. Arguing with only each other, all of them at once. Building and warping into some _thing_ of its own. Separating from your mind and soul, fiber by agonizing fiber, like the tearing of muscle from bone. The sounds and gore encircle you, the eye, mixing grotesquely and uprooting everything you are rather than be the one place that was safe.

Somewhere, a man shouts.

???: _Is it you?_

What? There are so many of you now, crowding the precious space in your head. An image forms in your mind unbidden, of Lely- Ellis Kortenaer as seen through Dros’s scope, then through Dros’s mind.

???: _No more. Too many._

You give up trying to understand; you don’t know who they are. You thought they were you, but are they? Were they ever? A shot rings out, and the idea of your eardrums bursts along with Kortenaer’s skull, spewing bloody fragments, and you know all too well how his brain feels- felt, on your index and middle finger as you lodged them down his throat and pried open-

Another intrusion, even further in the past and you’re fit to explode. The first night in the Whirling, you stumbling through the darkness, a man hanging from a tree. You don’t have to look up, it’s still you, and then it’s you again, the inside of _your_ head being prodded. Then again, Visual Calculus reconstructing you kneeling, looking down at Klaasje- Katarzine- Dolores- Dora- the zoetrope spins and spins and clicks to a stop and you see Kim laying there, looking up at you, but you’re sure you’ve never seen him like this, and with that the world turns in reverse and he’s looking down at you, watching you die. Your hip blazes with phantom pain and the ghost of his warm hands, and a shapeless shadow looms behind him. But you don’t give him the gun this time, you know it has to be you, your blood-slicked skin slipping on the worn metal as you line up the barrel and squeeze the trigger-

And the shadow splits into fragments, but Kim is still there, haloed in the moonlight, the lines of his mouth weighed down by the same concern. His hand is bare, hovering near your face like he’s just finished a preliminary injury search but isn’t sure he’s done enough. _Your_ hand is empty, and half raised from the vision. Relief washes over you, but as you unwind, you begin to feel… bereft. Spurred by vulnerability and desire, you close the distance between your hand and Kim’s, holding lightly to let him pull away. He does, but only to reposition so he can press your palms together and link his fingers between yours. 

You gaze at your togetherness in wonder. Those bulky gloves were deceptive, you dwarf him in this, just like you do standing at his side, taller and broader and more rough around the edges. He breathes in deep as you lower your head and touch your lips to his knuckles with the reverence of a supplicant and his savior.

The dark shards haven’t been dissipating. They reform in a dome around you, like the ship, like the area of effect from Ruby’s radio. Your terror is numb and far away. You are here, in the prison of your mortality, watching helplessly as the most vital piece of your reality vanishes.

* * *

You wake up, and fear the universe has been reduced to a white void. Upon closer inspection, that’s a ceiling, and you’ve merely been moved to a room that is white.

You sit up in the equally white bed, and spy Kim in the one a few scant inches from yours. He’s alive, awake, and sitting up, hunched with pain.

He moves when you do, reaching for his glasses, a quiet hiss escaping him, the unwilling confession of strain. You beat him to the table and lean forward to gently return his glasses to his face.

These are the only times you hate Kim’s stubborn pride more than you love it. You want to ask how he is, but you’ll be stonewalled and have the question flipped on you. He’ll be upset, and you won’t get the whole truth.

“What’s up?” you say because you can’t think faster. Given the circumstances, you let yourself have a pass.

He huffs a breath through his nose. “Not much. You?”

You hope your honesty policy rubs off on him someday. “That hurt. Think my body’s okay, though.”

“Mmh.” He pulls his knee up against his chest and loosely hugs the leg. “...I want a cigarette.”

Moderate success. More of an admission than you dared hope. He’s hurt too, but the need to think and stay calm is stronger than the need for medical attention. You should talk, just save the serious stuff for later.

You scoot forward, your bare feet make contact with cold tile, and a discovery assaults your enfeebled mind.

“Oh, no, Kim… _you_ were the meat pie.”

“Detective,” he deadpans. “What are you talking about.”

“A _metaphor_ from the _cosmos_. I couldn’t protect you! The stars were right about me.” You ham up the lamentations until he laughs, hushed and transient.

Kim’s eyes have glazed over and he slowly blinks at you like a trusting cat. You’re overcome by the inexplicable urge to put this ship in reverse, march to the Martinaise pawn shop, and buy one of those cavalry figurines he likes for him. It would be fun. You open your mouth to tell him so, when you feel a tickle in the furthest corner of your mind.

REACTION SPEED?: Hello? Is this thing on? I said, belatedly realize you’re in an Iilmaraan infirmary.


	5. The Locals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Am I satisfied? No. Am I dead tired of looking at this chapter? Yes. We'll be back to your regularly scheduled kim/harry alone time in the next one

Several fruitless attempts later, you give up on, ironically, trying to get another reaction.

“We kinda bungled that, huh?” You flop back on your pillow. “At least we made it.”

Kim hasn’t laid down again, spine ramrod straight where he sits. “I’m afraid it was mostly my fault. I was eager to experience the takeoff and assumed the pale wouldn’t reach us for several minutes. At least we have one more chance not to disappoint Madame Messier: the return trip.”

Before you can reassure him, someone pipes up from the doorway. 

“No way,” says a bone-thin man in scrubs. His face is severe, perpetually squinting, marred with frown lines. His chin-length blond hair is swept away in an unruly stub of a ponytail, baring his forehead and curling at the back and sides where it escapes. He can’t be older than thirty-five. You wonder how long he’s been lurking there. With the state Reaction Speed reported in, you’re probably too tired to expect much help. 

“Oh, didn’t see you there.” Wow, right foot first. You’ve fallen so far you’re beginning to miss Electrochemistry.

“Clearly,” the man bites, shuffling papers.

You’re starting to feel like a naughty boy about to receive a stern chiding. “So… what’s the damage, Doc?”

“To you or your bill? Because, lucky you, there is no bill. This is a volunteer clinic for refugees. And I’m a nurse.” 

The nurse stalks to your bedside, and now you can make out his nametag: Burkhardt. He waves his clipboard, encapsulating you and Kim, and announces his assessment. “You guys... are wild. Paramedics haul you off a ship, all the way out here, not even able to clue me in about what’s wrong with you because _you_ -” he points the board in your face, “-are out cold, and I mean cold, without a scratch or trace of meddling or organ failure or anything to be found.” 

He sets his sights on Kim next. “And you! Little guy, I had no idea. Almost like you were infected by whatever got your buddy, but you were delirious, not in a coma.” 

“Coma?!” you cry like a big baby while Kim asks, “You would call these symptoms abnormal?”

Burkhardt throws his hands up, exasperated. “Of course it’s not normal! That’s not supposed to happen. Like, none of that. Did you really think hundreds of people a year would make these trips if they had to be hospitalized on the way?”

“You said ‘all the way out here’.” you interject. “Where are we?”

“Thanatos, in the Eastern Plains.”

Sounds like a place where wilkens would live. “...is that Iilmaraa?”

Burkhardt looks you over in concern. And mild disdain, but you’re starting to think that’s his default state. “ _Yes_ , in Iilmaraa. Did I forget to list you having a head injury?”

Kim comes to your aid, “We’re in the right place, then. About the pale, we were told that some people are more sensitive to it.”

“There’s sensitivity, yes, and every port doctor I know has to handle a few extreme cases a year. But whatever the _shit_ is the deal with you two, we couldn’t tell you. You really shouldn’t be going anywhere for at least a week.”

“A week?” you repeat. “Thanks, but we do have to go home soon.”

“Whatever. You’ve officially been warned. Your funeral, pal.” 

“Duly noted. Wait, ‘pal’ oh my gosh, sorry, I’m Harry and this is my partner, Ki- uh, Lieutenant Kitsuragi. We’re from Precinct 41 in Jamrock.” 

One corner of Burkhardt’s mouth ticks up in a smile, but then he shrugs as if to distract from it. “Not like I’ll need ‘em, but sure. I gotta ask, though, what are y’all doin’ here, officers?” 

Kim answers, “A business trip, of sorts. You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find a scientist by the name of Marcella?”

“Know him?” he chuckles, forced. “He in any trouble?”

“No trouble at all, I assure you. We want to help with his research.”

“Dunno what folks like you would want with that but… alright. The esteemed Dr. Mark and I graduated from the same school. He’s kind of a recluse, lives outta the way. He’s nice, though, under all the… yeah. You got a map?”

Kim gestures to the pile of stuff in the corner. Oh, it’s your stuff. Looks like Kim only brought the one file.

Burkhardt opens it and unfolds the map. He digs a marker out of his chest pocket and uncaps it with his teeth, drawing a path. He gives it a once-over, nods, and puts away the marker, handing Kim the updated page. “That should get you there.”

“Really?” you say, leaning over Kim’s shoulder. “Thanks so much, Dr. Burkhardt.”

“Again, don’t have a doctorate, and it’s no big deal. But if you piss him off, you were never here.”

“Got it. And thank you for looking after us, Mr. Nurse Burkhardt.” 

“Just doing my job,” he mutters, stiffly retreating. You see the red stain crawling up his neck before he slams the door behind him.

“You know,” you cover the side of your face conspiratorially, “I think he’s sweet. Like one of those guys who’s a jerk just to keep you guessing, but secretly he really cares.” 

Kim rolls his eyes, but he’s not unamused. “Make up whatever operatic drivel you wish about this random nurse. Though I suppose you could be right. A volunteer with poor bedside manner…”

You let the contemplative silence drag on until you have to bite the bullet and ask how he is again.

“Was it worse for you, Kim? Like we were expecting?”

“How should I know? I don’t even know what happened to you. And your… voices. Were they affected?”

You recall your responsibility to keep the honesty train chugging along. “Big time. I don’t know if they’re hurt somehow.” You feel out your mind in worried silence for a minute. “I had a nightmare, I think. With them. I’m not sure if it was real or meant something or...”

Still, one little white lie can’t hurt. You tell him everything. Except the smooch.

Kim doesn’t interrupt, letting your river of words flow forth to their natural end. Finally, he hums in thought. “I did assess your vitals before the effects reached me. Then- ah, actually, nevermind. I’m not fit to comment on the rest.”

EMPATHY: And so they both evaded the same thing for the same reason.

There you are, you little bastard. You better be okay. Also, screw that.

EMPATHY: I think so? It _would_ be problematic if your empathy was damaged. Also, what?

You screw it. You come clean. “I totally kissed your hand, huh?”

“I thought nothing of it.”

DRAMA: Liar.

He goes on, “You weren’t in your right mind-”

“Not entirely, but I knew it was you. I was scared you’d disappear.”

“Ridiculous.” Harsh. But he forges on, cocky. “You should know Kim Kitsuragi won’t be taken down so easily. I plan to see seventy at least, remember? It will take more than _evil fog_ to do me in.”

Maybe he’s projecting confidence for your sake, maybe for his. Whatever the case, you’re grateful for Kim’s strength. You’re determined to support him in kind.

For some reason, if this were some sort of technologically advanced pinball game, you feel like you’d level up right about now.

* * *

You meander down an old dirt path, weaving through the thin trees of the forest. Burkhardt wasn’t kidding when he said this place was in the middle of nowhere. You keep the pace slower than usual, more for Kim’s sake than your own, though he’d snap at you if you mentioned his health. As much as Kim snaps. You’re getting an earful as it is.

“So no,” Kim is saying, “I refuse to adopt the Jamrock shuffle. How you keep track of what you have and haven’t investigated, I’ll never understand. We can’t both be flitting around a crime scene, anyway, not when I have to watch y-” he clamps his jaw shut and goes still, alarmingly fast.

You try to whisper his name, but he shushes you. Carefully, he raises a finger and points into the thicket. You don’t miss how his other hand brushes his holster.

PERCEPTION: The rustling of the leaves. The crunch of clay beneath a sizeable weight.

Despite your trepidation, you smile. Hey, you think.

PERCEPTION: Hey. Now pay attention. We’re back in action!

You remember Kim’s distance sight is fine at the same moment he draws.

REACTION SPEED: Move!

You trip backwards at an angle and hear an actual arrow whistle past where your torso was.

Kim, ascetic as the pistolette he carries, responds just as quick. An image from the tribunal superimposes itself over your vision as everything decelerates to bullet time in your mind. He’s crouched, ducking around your front to line up the shot with your assailant, somewhere off to your right. There, poking out from between a cluster of trees, an arrow nocked in a bow that’s held in a strangely shiny, pitch black hand.

Like lightning, the tiny death machine inches from your shoulder howls a sickening _crack_. 

VISUAL CALCULUS: His calculation was perfect. Direct hit.

You closed your eyes at the sound, and now you’re afraid to open them.

VISUAL CALCULUS: That is, to the weapon.

Ah. So it is. The once-majestic bow is discarded among the dirt in sad splinters... next to the smallest adult woman you’ve ever seen in your known life.

“Psst. Kim.” You lock eyes with him while the Shiny Hands woman recovers. “That shot was so totally disco.”

He winks.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s not devoid of flirtation. 

You change your mind, you didn’t miss that one and it can stay in oblivion.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You love me.

The two of you are standing very close together. When he straightens, your chests almost touch. You think you can see his heart pounding through his cheap white t-shirt. From adrenaline. Obviously.

Shiny Hands staggers up from the grass, and Kim holds an arm out in front of you. Prepared to shield you, you realize. If only he knew the thing hurting you most at this rate is the stranglehold he has on your emotions.

“Oh, you’re just visitors. Human. Well. I thank you for not executing me.” He extends an arm, shrouded in a hilariously gigantic rubber glove. “I’m Dr. Mark, geologist.” 

“WHAT,” you shout in his face like an asshole.

You thought his expression was already blank, but he shutters further. “If this is about my-”

“No, not that, you’re in good company. I _just_ \- I thought you were researching animals, not rocks. How could a geologist find a cryptid?”

So he can look smug too. “You’d be surprised. Chasing the teratorn, are you? Friends of Lena’s, perchance? Hang on. You wouldn’t be Harrier and Tim?” 

“Harry and Kim,” your partner corrects. “I mean, Lieutenants-” 

“Yes, yes, Kimothy, it’s very nice to meet everyone.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: The lieutenant is not happy.

Thanks, you can tell. You are, though. The only person who gets to call him Kim is you. Wait, what did he say?

You glance between Dr. Mark and the arrow he nearly skewered you with. “You didn’t know we were coming?”

“I haven’t checked my mail recently,” he says airily. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“You greeted us by, and I can’t stress this enough, _firing a deadly weapon with the intent to kill us_.”

Kim takes this one for the team. “Why _did_ you have a bow?”

“It’s been years since I had a non-threatening visitor.”

“And who, or what, threatens you?” he presses.

“Better if you don’t worry about that. I’m well beyond your jurisdiction, aren’t I, officer?”

Kim replies to your frown with a shrug that says ‘he’s got us there.’

Dr. Mark sets off further down the path, gaze firmly forward for someone Kim shot at moments ago. “Come along then.”

He doesn’t give you a choice. You follow him.

“Are you bringing us to your secret lab? Where you do crazy experiments because you’re a mad scientist?” 

His teeth glint in the sunlight as he bares an odd smile for you. They must be a bit chipped. Otherwise they wouldn’t seem so… sharp. “Yes.”

DRAMA: ...Sire. This is a dangerous individual.

For once, you don’t want to ask more questions.

Seemingly at random, he veers off the path and leads you to a door in a cliff wall. Only a door. He kicks it open and abandons you outside, closing it behind him. You and Kim share a look of discomfort as you tolerate the multiple crashing sounds from within. Then the door swings wide, Dr. Mark shoves a paper in your face, and you’re left to your own devices. The lock clicks with finality.

You wait a few seconds, but the door doesn’t move.

"Aw, man. I wanted to see the experiments."

“We shouldn’t disturb him again,” Kim decides, scanning the page. “People like that always have more important things to do. Besides, he gave us our puzzle piece, a detailed account of what he witnessed.”

Beneath several paragraphs of text, there’s a crude illustration of more cliffs, populating the canyons just north of your location. Nestled on one shelf is a garish star shape, your destination. You look ahead, as if you could spot it from here. The sun is high in the sky, but it won’t be forever. The last day on schedule before your flight is ticking past. You don’t need Esprit to know that you and Kim are operating on the same wavelength.

“We can handle the rest ourselves,” he says for you. “No time to lose, detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two whole OCs I know guys I know but someone has to deliver them info and Disco wouldn’t give us Iilmaraans. So here’s my kids’ one appearance, be gentle with em. Nurse Burkhardt is a single father of two. Mark is a he/him lesbian C: next time: the bird you’ve been waiting for


	6. Ace's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i atone for my crimes as fast as i can

The air is gritty and unsatisfying at the top of the highest cliff in the canyon. The heat is oppressive. You’re sweating through your shirt and you can feel the pinpricks of a nasty sunburn in your near future. The path you’re edging down is less than a foot wide.

And there is nowhere you’d rather be.

Not because of your noble journey to discover a mythical beast. Nor are your detective senses tingling. No, it’s because it’s so shitty up here, Kim has foregone his fashionable jacket. And taken off his shirt.

“Skirting the edge of a fatal precipice.” Kim bemoans his fate. “Are we characters learning a lesson in a fable?” He kicks loose pebbles out of the way as he sidles along behind you. “The running, I could get used to. I built endurance. But this…”

He looks to you, suddenly so unsure he’s toeing apologetic. “You said it’s fine for me to complain, didn’t you? Where no one else can hear?”

“ _Yes,_ Kim, and no one’s going to overhear us in a canyon. You’re safe. Let it out. How mad are you really?”

“I… could be happier with the situation,” he admits.

AUTHORITY: That’s it. Get him.

You shake your head. Raising your voice, you clap your hands encouragingly after every word, “ _I. Said. How. Mad. Are. You?_ ”

“ _I’m pissed!_ This sucks! I’m glad you’re here, and the case is cool, but this part… is lame.” His voice echoes through the canyon and he stops baring his teeth, a little sheepish. “Which is an idiotic thing to say, considering I brought us here.”

You have to let Kim know what a good job he did, but you can’t risk a hug or you’ll slip to your untimely demise. Maybe you’re still scum for this, but only under threat of instant death would you pass up this legendary chance to cop a feel. You settle for wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. “No, I’m so proud of you. Griping to power through the pain. You’re growing up so fast.”

His answering smile has more boyish joy than you’ve seen on him today. Fuck. He’s so handsome, it’s not fair.

Then his face falls again. “I swear, if we scared off the bird with pointless shenanigans...”

You round the corner and reach the freedom of a decent outcropping. He joins you, and you bow. “Kim… If my destiny is to become a pink stain on the rocks below, I want you to know, there’s no one I’d rather commit foolish hooliganry with.”

“That’s a nice sentiment, detective.” He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Still, I’d rather you not become a pink stain on a rock. Get a move on; I estimate there’s only a few hundred yards to go.”

* * *

On a large shelf halfway down, you find a nest. It seems to be normal, except for the fact that it’s huge. The width could fit several grown humans and then some. There are also two brown eggs, speckled with white and bigger than your head. 

“Poor little eggs.” Pat pat.

Kim snorts at the too-familiar phrase.

You try to enjoy the view into the distant landscape, but something less distant catches your eye, forcing it to refocus.

A small dot. Hovering above… it’s hard to say where it is. Its color is the absence of color. The dot is lightless. Soundless. If you had the equipment, you bet it’d measure exactly two millimeters. 

Then, horrifyingly, it starts to grow. The dot expands, and you stare into the nothing of its gaping void. You have to tilt your head up slightly, watching it cross the sun and find it wanting, eclipsing it until only the northern corona is visible.

Something begins to emerge from the darkness. A shape just as dark, barring one white slit. It starts to peel open, and you see it. And it sees you. 

For all that you can tell from its unbroken, milky sclera. An eye, resting in the skull longwise, the length of your arm.

Glinting reflections the only clue that its rolling in its socket, the eye fixes on you. And another, and another until you can see yourself in eight identical ovals.

COMPOSURE: This is it. Don’t freak out. It’s like a regular bird of prey. Just really, really big. With spider eyes. And, you recall from the phasmid, probably intelligent.

Before you can speak, the teratorn flaps its monstrous wings, and the gust of wind sweeps you off your feet and over the edge.

A hand clutches yours, and you know Kim didn’t hesitate to throw himself after you. 

Conflictingly, you feel fuzzy, and terrified. 

But he needn’t have bothered. You cling to each other, overbalanced, and by all rights should be falling to your grisly deaths, your lives snuffed out tragically, but heroically, dashed on the cliffside. Your skeletons would be a warning to all who tread this cursed ground, and then some new buddy cops would come to this town of weirdos and try to solve _your_ murder, and they would have the darnedest time figuring out how a cryptid was involved.

Instead of any of that happening, you feel under your feet something solid, but not, like it isn’t quite there in reality.

You push off it and Kim pulls you to land on top of him. You sit there straddling him, hugging the cliff face, half turned to look this giant bird in the eyes.

The teratorn proceeds to ignore you and gets comfortable in the nest a foot away. The rapid head movements and fluffing of feathers would be cute if it hadn’t just given you another near-death experience.

Who are you kidding? Birds are awesome. It’s still cute.

You wave to it. “Hello.”

It grants you its regard. The teratorn appears to examine Kim. Hesitates. Then turns to you. 

You brace yourself for the intrusion, and it speaks in your mind. <Hello.>

“I can hear you,” you confirm for its benefit as well as Kim’s, who hasn’t moved a muscle, observing you both in silence.

<Then you are a very unusual human indeed.>

“So I’m told. You’re not going to talk to me long either, are you?”

<No. You may stay, but I will not speak at length. It invites misfortune. Your kind always does.>

“Because of the apocalypse? The pale? We barely know what it is.”

<Your ‘pale’ is a consequence of your actions. But it is also a cause. You will die, but you will also, for a time, be privileged to live. If you have allowed the stories of those within to perish with you… That is most unfortunate.>

“Who are those within?”

<Us, at the start. Now only the great ancients behold from the shade.>

“What about you? Who are you?”

<I am meaningless, unless you ascribe meaning to me. I am a traveller and a witness. And now one of you has come to witness me in return.>

“I think I met someone like you, not long ago.” 

<Yes. I can see the lingering residue of the other traveller, and yet you stand before me. It is not wise treatment of your quilted mind and featherless flesh.>

HALF LIGHT: That isn’t ominous.

“Should I be afraid of you?”

<Son of man…> Its colossal beak lowers and stops inches from your nose. <The world we share burns and collapses like a star in your clumsy grasp.>

<Know this. It is _we_ who are afraid of _you_.>

It turns away, resuming its uncaring posture. You can feel the mental connection wavering and shrinking. There’s no need to hold on. You let the teratorn go.

But you do try to touch it real quick. Your outstretched hand stops at the same… bubble-feeling thing.

Not mind control. A barrier.

“Kim-” oh wow, he’s staring pretty intensely at you “-can you take a picture of it through this thing?”

He shakes out of whatever he was thinking and fishes up the camera, looking through the lense at it. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS, EMPATHY, ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You wanna know what-

_No_ , you think as hard as you can. 

Okay, yes, but later, you think with much more shame.

“It’s fine,” Kim says. “Actually, what if you take the photo this time?”

“What about it?”

“…Officer-”

“C’mon. What have I told you about being selfish?”

The look Kim gives you is flatter than a pancake. “That I should do that instead of taking advice from the general public, which is that you should, in fact, not do that at all.”

“ _Kim_.”

“You’re a bad influence,” he grumbles while he puts his shirt and jacket back on. “I want you to do it because it’s my turn to be in the new species picture.”

The whiny tone sounds so silly on him. You laugh and take the camera. 

You look through the shutter and there’s the teratorn, so immense it almost blots out the sun like the hole did. A tiny trickle flows unimpeded under its beak, shining a spotlight on Kim, standing nearby with his usual poise. At last reality reflects _your_ view of the world.

Now this is a shot you could get used to lining up.

The camera whirs and clicks as you take the photo. The teratorn isn’t as jumpy about it as the phasmid was. It stays put, watching you watch it.

Kim approaches you with purpose, smirk wobbling like he’s trying not to laugh. His hand extends for you, flat in a gesture you know too well, but still makes your pulse flutter.

You intentionally raise your arm too high for him. He hops to reach you. You connect, and your combined exclamation fills the canyon.

With more certainty than you’ve ever felt, you link your fingers and hold your entwined hands up between your faces. Your bent elbows draw you in close. 

So fleetingly it could be mistaken for a daydream, he brushes your knuckles past his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teratorn picture from @enterthepale on tumblr! go check out her art B)


	7. Not-So Small Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smaller chapter to hold yall over while i take care of some things and get the action chapter put together. 1 or 2 updates left to go!

The triumphant return to the inn is a little less fanfare and a little more tired, though pleased, regular walking in comfortable silence. In the last half a mile, Kim clears his throat.

“So…” Oh, no, he never starts a good question that hamfistedly. You brace yourself. “What did you and the teratorn talk about?”

False alarm, not the ‘what are we’ talk, just anticipation.

INLAND EMPIRE: Shrug and make an ‘I don’t know’ noise.

Why would you lie?

INLAND EMPIRE: *Shrugs* _iono_.

It’s true that it’s your instinct these days not to clue people in on these things to avoid a villagers-with-pitchforks scenario. But you’ve made a pact with yourself to trust Kim with the truth and you intend to honor it.

You relay the conversation word for word while he dutifully jots down notes in the file. And you don’t even have to cut out any kissing scenes. He was there for that. At least, you _think_ it wasn’t a heatstroke-induced hallucination. You’ve had enough of wacky dreams for this week. Hopefully, the trip home will go easy on you.

LOGIC: Would you like to know the odds of that?

Absolutely the hell not.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Would you

EMPATHY: like to

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: know what-

 **Yes**. If you could feverishly shake yourself by the collar you would.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’ll take this one. His body language was off the charts love-zone. Heart-eyes city, baby. What are we waiting for?

EMPATHY: For you to get the words right, idiot.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Hey, pump the hate-brakes, Feelings Jam. In case you haven’t heard, I’m like the best skill.

EMPATHY: In case you haven’t heard, the _thought_ cabinet called and said they’re missing a member.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: ...When I figure out what that means. You’ll be sorry.

Kim’s isn’t going to be organizing his notes all day, people.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He was thinking about how incredible you are in general. And also because you can talk to cryptids. In particular. There was, indeed, a dazed look involved.

Wow. You feel the impulse to strike up a dumb conversation to stave off another freak out.

“Hey, Kim, I just realized you don’t have your usual notebook.” 

“Huh?” He jolts up from where his nose was buried in the file. “Oh, I don’t, no. I dropped it off at my apartment before I went to pick you up. I am treating this case seriously, for the record, I simply didn’t want to endanger all our RCM work and official reports unnecessarily. Plus, I had a feeling we wouldn’t be speaking to many informants.”

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting that much of an explanation, but I guess you were right. I mean, you’re usually right.”

Kim eyes you with a wicked little grin before coyly flipping the closed file up in front of him like an old Seol folding fan. “You’re the hero of the day for the second time and you’re complimenting _me_ again? If you don’t watch your step, detective, someone might think you’re after something.”

Okay, now you can sound the alarm. He’s so onto you, and you’re so busted.

“Harry,” he squints in mock suspicion. “You don’t have anything else to tell me, do you?”

HALF LIGHT: Come on, you’re technically his superior! Turn this around and give him what for.

“Do… _you_ have anything to tell _me_?” 

HALF LIGHT: Smooth. You really showed him who’s boss. (It’s Kim.)

He drops the act and starts to circle you, shark-like with his methodical pacing. It’s remarkably graceful given that you’re still walking too. “Yes,” he says finally, planting himself in front of you and stopping you in your tracks. “I believe I do have something to tell you.”

“You… You do?” Hands sweaty... knees weak...

The pause is almost more than you can bear. You hold your breath against your will.

“My apartment in Jamrock? It’s boring.” 

And you gasp in relief. “Is that all? Why were you toying with me?!”

“Revenge for calling my endurance into question on the boat.”

“Really?”

“No. A little.” He allows. “Let me finish. Even after a year, the place is terribly barren. I’ve been thinking about what would make it less dull, what could take up all my empty space and- I had the idea of proposing that you move in with me.”

“Me…?” You echo dumbly. “Come live with you?”

“If you want to,” he shrugs.

PERCEPTION: Clasped behind his back, his hands are gripping tight enough to hurt.

“Aww, Kim.” You rush to reassure him with a light squeeze to the bicep. _Relax_ , you try to say without saying. “Of course I want to- I’d love to. You’ve seen some of my place, it’s so depressing. I should really get out of there more. I should get out permanently! Let’s do it.” 

“Is that what you want? You’re not just making a snap decision because I asked? You’re not ignoring yourself in any way in a misguided attempt to spare me?”

“What? When have I ever done that?”

His expression goes slack like a window slammed shut. The swiftness of the change would be funny if he wasn’t communicating how not impressed he is.

“Okay, point. It is sudden, but yeah, seriously, I didn’t even like going back to live there in the first place. Felt like the ruins of someone else’s disaster, y’know?” 

“Why didn’t you- oh, let me guess. You were afraid to inconvenience anyone by saying so.”

Your smile could not be more awkward. “Guilty.”

“Well. If that’s how you really feel.” Kim grabs something from the side pocket on his cargo pants and presses his fist into your palm. You’re happy to just stand there holding on, but he pulls back, dropping the delivery. You realize what it is in parts. A small, warm, metal, gold colored… key.

In an effort to keep from sniffling, you busy yourself digging around your bag for something to attach it to. There’s a loose thread that seems sturdy enough, and you tie it around the key, then around your neck. 

“Wait a second." You say, holding it curiously. "You carry a ring of keys. When did you unhook this one?”

Kim’s gaze flits away to nothing in particular. “I started carrying the spare separately a few weeks ago. I have been saving it… for someone I trust.” 

Then he spots whatever embarrassing face you’re making and coughs with a sharp about-face, marching on. “We need to check in before closing, detective.”

You trail after him, in no hurry for a new locale to intrude on your quiet evening, abruptly needing to remember everything about this exact moment. Crickets are chirping under the occasional buzz of a cicada, the coastal air is damp and cool with a continual breeze from the water, and the faint charred scent of oven cooking is wafting from the inn, now in sight at the base of the hill. The short daylight hours are long behind you and the brightest of stars have made their debut in the clear sky, mid-fade from blue to charcoal. Your own calmness is overwhelming. A choking discomfort you thought you'd carry forever, had carried so long you began to think it was normal, silently went up in smoke somewhere along that talk. The key is a grounding weight around your neck.

In your bed, you rest, actually rest this time, maybe for the first time since that fateful day in a room like this one miles out at sea.

When you both rise with the sun, all tangled together like it was inevitable, you don’t think twice.


	8. Would You Be So Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Careful kids, things get a little :flushed emoji:

You board the aerostatic for what you hope will be the last time in a good while.

This round, Kim’s focus is razor sharp. You both go over the battle plan before you reach the common area.

“Basically,” you say, “I’m extremely tuned in to the pale, which is made of human thought and/or feeling somehow. In exchange for being easily affected and sensed by pale-related substances, I should be able to produce powerful thoughts and mold them to our defense.”

“Or so we’ve extrapolated from the evidence, yes. It’s only a theory, but we need to try anything that will prevent a second hospitalization in as many days.” Kim pauses, adjusting his glasses. “Your ‘coma’ worried me most. We have no proof we’ll survive another trip so soon, nor that the effects would lessen significantly if we waited another month or year or more. We know of no others like us to study. Like you, I mean.”

“Like me?”

“I believe your special nature is the cause of these strange occurrences. My extended proximity to you is likely the reason that the nurse said I seemed infected, the teratorn gave me that odd look, and so on. In any event, we have to risk it.”

You shift in your chair. “What about the phasmid?”

“I didn’t touch it, and the teratorn made no mention of its residue being on me like it noticed on you. You are a greater possibility.”

“Are you sure?”

Kim stares at you, brows drawn.

“What about-”

“Detective. Does something about our conclusion bother you?”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Damn you, honesty policy! You’ve betrayed us for the last time!

“I don’t wanna… have to stop… touching.” You grit out. “Y… Y-”

A dark thrill passes over Kim’s face. “Me? There’s no need for that, Harry. Quite the opposite. Recall the instructions: stay in contact.”

You flush with color despite yourself, much to Kim’s increasing delight.

“Bold of you to mention it, though. How salacious. How scandalous. How se-” 

“I’m sorry for blabbering about you to Joyce, okay, just please have mercy.”

“Should I?”

You drop your face in your hands, muffling your response. “Yes! I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh, very well. Don’t forget. You owe me.”

He basks in his petty victory for all of ten seconds before you arrive at the passenger section. It’s a rerun of the song and dance from before. You’re seated, you prepare for launch, and you sit there, consumed with anxiety.

Kim, meanwhile, is examining your cubicle. He must deem it fairly secluded, sequestered away in a tiny lidless box of your own, because he takes off his gloves. His hands look just how they did in your dream, if a little rougher. 

He offers you a bared hand, and you hold it. 

The launch is exactly the same, but you’re not sure if it’s the lurch or your own fear that forces you to plaster yourself to the seat. The turbulence is intense, and you swear you can feel the pale hurtling towards you, almost upon you, the voices silenced but your mind whirling for escape like you’re being flung at a wall at breakneck speed rather than a mass of condensed air. Also at breakneck speed. And the air is magic poison.

You can’t help thinking about the dream and the awful ache you woke with. You grab his other hand, too, and slot your fingers together.

“Kim…”

“We’re alright,” he declares, but even his cool tone can’t save you. Your worries erupt, spilling from you involuntarily.

“But what if we’re not? What if you were right and I lose my memories again? What if I die? What if something happens to you? What if _you_ die? If not now, then tonight or tomorrow or next week on your way to work? Kim, I’m just- I’m sorry for wasting so much time... And I’m really sorry this isn’t more romantic.”

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. The urgency of your confession has come to a head.

“But I can’t lose you when you don’t even know how I feel.”

He exhales steadily and rubs his thumb against yours. “Harry. You’re not the only detective on this team.” He releases one hand only to cup your face with a smile. “Of course I do.”

"You do," you repeat dumbly, processing.

"As if our actions weren't making it abundantly clear. I thought we were on the same page. Really, Harry... must I prove it to you?"

He drifts to you, looking between your eyes and your mouth, stopping just close enough to brush feather-light against the corner of your lips. Asking permission. The tension in the air could take the pale to school.

You slowly push his glasses up to rest on his head.

He kisses you. Firm and gentle, just like you imagined. You let his breath into you and surrender your lungs to a sweet burn. 

Your hip twinges from twisting in your seat to reach him, and you clamp your free hand to his waist, pulling insistently. He swings a leg over yours and lets you maneuver him into your lap and- and a ghostly voice interrupts. Not so silenced this time.

VISUAL CALCULUS: Unfortunately, I have to remind you that we’re currently flying through-

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Can it, buzzkill! I’ve been waiting three days for this and we’re gonna enjoy it if it kills us all.

Your pulse thrums with the knowledge, and the kiss devolves into a needy mess. You push your hands up under his tee and drag your blunt nails down his back. He arches into your chest, muted growl vibrating on your tongue, and there’s something heady in feeling the excited thump of his heart against the key dangling proudly over your shirt.

If the pale sends you to the great precinct in the sky, you’re going out with Kim’s labored gasps ringing in your ears.

...Okay, maybe it shouldn’t be that labored.

Reluctantly, you pull back an inch to breathe and you know your pupils are blown. They track a movement over Kim’s shoulder and your eyes widen further. 

Red-mouthed and panting, he asks, “What is it?”

“You don’t see that?” You point at the porthole.

Kim pulls away and leans into the glass intently. And shakes his head.

You turn and stand on your chair, casting about over the partition. There are other people looking out the windows, but they don’t react. Like they can’t see anything.

You gesture for Kim to follow, stumbling on shaky legs to the common room’s sizeable window, and you see it. 

Part of it. Bigger than the phasmid, than the teratorn, putting the entire aerostatic to shame. The shadowy outline of a giant, a living mountain. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle and rise, phantom insectoid legs shooting up your spine in the instinctual terror of being faced with the true scope of your existence: a flea in an ecosystem of creatures far beyond you. You can hardly see a third of it and you’re trembling with the enormity. Like the halfway point in your journey across the ocean, surrounded by endless horizon, the reality of size and distance defies comprehension.

The most you get is a vague sense of the shape as it passes. Another dome with a few anomalies, immense and shifting. It kind of looks like… a turtle.

Somehow it fits into everything you could’ve expected, and you wonder. 

SHIVERS: Why do humans covet old things? To feel continuity of their short, singular existence? Meaning and perspective in constant backwards motion, and reflected in the opposite direction, hoping for a bright future.

A tone sounds, deep and reverberating, rattling your teeth as though you’re standing next to a foghorn. Then it pitches up, then down again, melodic like whalesong.

“One of the ‘great ancients’ the teratorn said watched from the shade, I presume,” you eventually squeeze out.

“Oh. What about the pale?” Kim asks, looking between you and apparently, nothing. “Did we... win?”

You shrug, helpless. “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t do anything special; I was just thinking about you the whole time. Us. Where we’ll go.”

“All good places now, I hope.” 

“Yeah… really good.”

“Good,” he echoes quietly. “I would like a full description of the being outside. Later, in our personal records. For now, I suppose I should reward you. To encourage your…”

He rocks up on his toes to say in your ear.

“Great work, detective.”

* * *

Joyce meets you at the docks, exactly as planned, no worse for wear.

You don’t know how Kim can meet her head on with his I-was-just-making-out-for-a-whole-flight level of unkempt.

“Oh yeah,” you announce before anyone can say anything embarrassing. “I forgot to say bye and good luck when you were leaving, Joyce. My bad, I was transfixed by your totally cool exit.”

“Not at all, officer. I should've thought about establishing further contact and retrieval plans but I admit I was rather preoccupied with being dramatic.” She laughs, boisterous. “Though not as preoccupied as you are lately, it seems.”

“Quite,” Kim answers for you, and waves you aboard with an ‘after you’ like a proper gentleman.

You, not a gentleman, tease him mercilessly. “A sunset on the water? How romantic. How intimate. How-”

“I advise caution if you don’t want to hear my real opinion on your shave.”

RHETORIC: Deploy the finger guns of self defense.

“You’re into it. And me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m _into_ you despite it.” 

The pink-orange backdrop makes for an idyllic scene, fit for the cover of a celebrity magazine, when you chastely kiss his cheek.

* * *

On the long road home, Lena and Morell’s house is a sight for sore eyes. 

Morell is out on errands, but you sit down for tea with Lena to show her your notes, maps, and the centerpiece picture. 

“This is lovely,” she finally concludes, through with perusing the research materials you spread around the kettle and cups. “So lovely, in fact, that I wouldn’t deprive you of the original photograph. I’ll have a cropped copy made, sweetie, no need to worry about the press.”

“Woah, really? Thank you! I would’ve let you have it, but I admit I’ve been wanting to keep it myself. Proof that Kim isn’t a vampire.” You mumble the last part.

“What was that, detective?”

“How wonderful,” Lena says, sincerely as ever, like the things you say make sense.

“...In any case,” Kim continues, “I’m glad, too.”

“Because we get to hang it up in our apartment?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Because he wants to use it to brag about you to the others at the precinct. He thoroughly enjoyed giving them a piece of his mind at the end of The Case, after all.

Kim only hums into his tea, indulgent and content, and it makes Lena titter gently.

“You’re both just the dearest boys an old cryptid-lover could ask for.”

You place your teacup on the saucer with conviction. “It’s what you deserve! Anything for you, Lena.” 

She returns your hug and coaxes Kim into letting her briefly get an arm around his shoulders before responding. “One more thing, if I may. I believe the teratorn was right. Someone has to tell these stories.” 

Lena sets her elbows on the table and steeples her fingers. “I want you two to know that you can count on me to bring whatever you find to light. It’s a mysterious world we live in. One that warrants expert investigation.”

You shoot a confused glance at Kim, but he returns it.

“So,” she goes on. “What are you not telling me? What did you see in the pale?”

* * *

Hours of unabridged adventure tales later, you and Kim arrive at your newly shared apartment. You haven’t had the chance to gather your things for the move, but you do find a frame for the picture and place it in the living room together. Seeing it, the first decoration on the wall, makes something well up inside you.

“Hey, Kim? I still owe you one, huh. I guess I’ll, y’know. Start the mushy stuff for you.” You have to take a calming breath. “I, uh… like you. A lot. Obviously. Because, well, everything. You're so uh, I- um, shit, I lo-”

“Don't strain yourself. Like I said, I do know.”

“You’re supposed to wait! And then say it back, you fuck.”

No dice. He’s in an impish mood. You can tell when he’s making _that_ face. Cat-like again, but smug, like he knows he’s too adorable for you to brandish a metaphorical knife at.

“Speaking of…”

You wait for him to continue, but he leaves you hanging. “Speaking of what?”

“What else? After our respective dry spells and airborne heavy petting? I want to have sex.”

You’re burning alive. “Wh- But- Right now? You- We only just! Today! And-” 

DRAMA: Sire.

“-And you’re fucking with me. Not even like that. Just fucking around you _asshole_. Why are you like this? You’re killing me. You’re killing your partner.”

Kim laughs. Aloud and unimpeded. Comfortable in your home. Happy.

You're struck with the need to hear it, as much as possible, for the rest of your life.

“Yes. My _partner_.” His bare hand travels from the key to his handkerchief in your chest pocket. “Mine.”

He sounds like he’s testing it out. And liking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the fun journey C:
> 
> say hi or make a request @SongbirdAda twitt or @yourmajestysghost tumbl


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